


Atom Bomb Baby

by babewithepower



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bad Jokes, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9984356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babewithepower/pseuds/babewithepower
Summary: You lost your husband. You lost your son. You lost your way. Everything you ever valued was ripped from you in the blink of an eye. The commonwealth is now a desert of death and destruction, a goddam hellhole. But you're prepared to fight your way through the wreckage. With new friends by your side, it's almost impossible to give up hope... for this world, for yourself, and for the son that was stolen away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I don't normally do notes, but I wanted to explain that since I don't swear, and since FO4 is understandably rife with swear words, I have decided to use placeholder curses instead. Hopefully this won't be too distracting. 3:D  
> Also, this is kinda sorta an AU. I interpreted some of the quests and such in a slightly different way than normal.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!!

You plop down on a dirty mattress in the off-putting little town of Goodneighbor, not ten minutes after you saw a man get stabbed to death right in front of you. Now, that wouldn't be too uncommon for you. After all, you’ve seen much worse in this hellhole called the commonwealth. No, the kicker was the stabber: the mayor of the town– a guy named John Hancock, and you use the term “guy” loosely. To you, his looks fall more in line with a zombie, pirate, civil-war reenactor who had spent a little too much time in a food dehydrator. _Oh yeah, it’s definitely one of those days_ _._ You scoff internally. Maybe the chem withdrawal is finally kicking in, but this whole situation is off kilter even for you—and you were a popsicle for two hundred years, so that’s really saying something. _At least he was nice enough to set me up with a place to sleep tonight. God knows I need it after the crap I’ve been through today._ Having to fend off raiders, super mutants, ferals, and an assortment of irradiated hell-beasts was definitely not on your to-do list for this evening- but then, it never is, is it? Just another crazy, forked up thing you had to learn to deal with. You collapse, exhausted, wondering how much longer it will take for you to get used to this new world. The only real tether you still have to your old life is the baby, and, hell, you’re not even sure if he even is alive or if that Kellogg creep was just running his mouth before you blasted it to bits. It’s awfully convenient for the Institute to be at the frontline of all the accusations, considering it’s basically the most magical, fort-knoxy type place this inexplicable world has to offer. “I’d have more luck making it to Wonderland,” you sigh aloud.

“Funny you should say that, sister,” a gravelly voice drifts form the doorway behind you, and you recognize it as the mayor from before. You pull yourself up and turn to him, but are careful not to directly meet his gaze. You briefly wonder how long he had been standing there, but chock up his timing to mere coincidence. Besides, you still aren’t entirely accustomed to the presence of the radiation-plagued folk that spread throughout the commonwealth, and you don’t really want to let it show. They’re still people after all, so you put on a brave face and actively avoid his. You instead focus on his hand, which dips into his front pant pocket and pulls out a small inhaler. You perk up at the sight of it. “I wanted to give ya’ this: an apology for the rude welcome from before. Finn had it coming anyway, but I hate to have visitors get the wrong impression. Goodneighbor is a great place, so long as you don’t try and take advantage of our hospitality, ya’ feel me?” He nears and holds the inhaler out to you. You gulp and take it, nodding your head. Your eyes flicker up to his for a second and you quickly turn away, your whole body tensing. 

“Thanks. And don’t worry about me. I’m just here to meet with someone and then I’ll be out of your hair.” You gasp, remembering most ghouls don’t have hair, and wonder if that is a sore subject. Instead you hear a throaty chuckle and find yourself relaxing slightly.  

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Stay for as long as you need, just letting you know where we stand. You treat us right, we treat you right.” A soft smile grows on his leathery lips. “Hey, you don’t need anything do ya? Now, we’re no Diamond City, but we’ve got our share of amenities. Food, drugs, doctor…” He trails off as you shake your head ‘no’. He nods and nears the stairs, before calling back, “Well, in that case, just do some drugs, get some sleep, and call me in the morning! Truly hope you enjoy your stay in this quaint little town of ours.” He chuckles again. Oddly, you find yourself half-smiling at his remark, a feat you haven’t been able to accomplish since you were flung out of hibernation. You shake your head and bite at your cheek as you sink back down to the mattress, glancing at the red plastic cupped in your hands. You had _really_ been trying to quit, but who were you kidding? With this little inhaler in your grasp, you knew your resolution was deader than Kellogg. _Screw being sober, I need to sleep_ , you justified. You bring it up to your lips and press it down, immediately feeling time slow and all your worries melt away. You fall flat on this blood and dirt caked sorry excuse for a bed, which actually feels like the comfiest thing on earth right now, and shut your eyes, falling asleep to the slowed down voices of the townspeople below. 

You wake up the next morning (well, more like evening) in a cold sweat. You had just been dreaming about Kellogg stealing Shaun away from your husband, Nate, right before shooting a deafening bullet into his side. In the midst of your screaming, you realized you had become surrounded by the terrifying first-gen synths when one of them grabbed you by the shoulder. You lifted your body up and swung a fist at the skeletal robot, realizing you were awake just in time. The synth detective Nick Valentine was squatting beside you, his mechanical arms defensively covering his pale face and glowing yellow eyes. You sigh in relief and lower your own arm. 

“God, Val!" You rub your crusty eyes with a less-than-clean hand. 

“Sorry there, doll. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He dropped his arms to his sides and stood, holding out a hand to pull you up. “Might I ask what type of dream makes one lash out at such a dashing detective?” You take his offer and stand, wiping the flaky blood off the back of your shirt. 

“Just the Institute. Same as always. I really am sorry about that, though,” you turn to him and your brow furrows. “Hey, how’d you know I was in here?”

“I have a lot of connections in Goodneighbor,” he states as he leads you down the stairs of the old statehouse. “The most notable, of course, being the mayor.” As he says this you catch the very man in your peripheral, 1700s hat and all. He was looming unhappily over a gruff looking redhead who casually lounged on a sofa. The scene almost reminded you of a parent chastising their rowdy child, and you smirked. The ghoul rolled his eyes as his fox-eyed companion made a snarky remark. As his focus drifted around his office, you suddenly catch his eyes in yours. You freeze for a moment and you stiffen, drowning in his gaze. For the briefest of seconds you find a hidden smile grace your lips, thanking the ghoul in absent words. He seems to understand, and nods as a wide grin forms on his dark, cratered cheeks. Nick picks up on this exchange in all his detective wisdom and pipes up, "You've met, I take it?" Your eyes widen and you nod, immediately peeling your gaze away. 

“He helped me out last night,” you remark, still making your way down the stairs. 

“Help? Well, that certainly was gentlemanly of him.” The detective let out a raspy chuckle, but you could swear you could hear traces of disappointment. You nod again, curious of their history, hoping the good mayor didn’t spill the beans about the jet. Nick's everlasting concern was the main reason you had waned yourself off the drugs. That and the knowledge that you would have likely died had you kept going at the rate you had been. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, Nick opens the door and your lips turn up in thanks. 

"Nice to see a smile on that pretty face for once," Nick notices, "you know, in all the time I've known you, I don't think I've seen you smile once."

"Yeah, I don't know, I think it's this town." Your eyes flutter. 

"Just the town?” You could feel his insinuation tear at you and you shot the synth a nasty glare.

“I don’t know what you’re implying Nick, but watch yourself.”

“Not implying anything, kid. I just noticed that your eyes are a bit redder than normal today. Am I to chock that up to the nightmare, as well?” 

Dam, of course Nick noticed. Despite being the best detective in the great nuked-out commonwealth, you somehow always believe you can pull one over on him. Somehow, you are always wrong. 

“Sorry, Nick. I’m off, I swear. Yesterday was just a hard day. I couldn’t sleep.” You tucked your sleeve down as the two of you trekked to the Memory Den, a neon-lit, modern day opium lounge where the drugs were the scientifically extracted past. If you weren’t careful, you could waste away there, lost in your memories. Sometimes that sounded like the best course of action. _Not now_ , you admonished yourself. You were here for something else. You fiddled in your pocket, reaffirming that you indeed had the piece of Kellogg’s cyborg brain easily at your disposal. You had wrapped it in a dirty towel, and hoped the germs wouldn’t render it useless. Still, its presence set you at ease, letting you know just how close you were to finding your son. At least, you hoped you were close. 

“I’m not your dad– though I’m old enough to be,” Nick sighed, “but you’ve got to take care of yourself. Remember, if anything happens to you–”

“It won’t, Nick,” you interject.

“If anything happens to you,” he repeated more sternly, “this will all have been for nothing. No Shaun. No daring rescue. I know this is a crummy world, and believe it or not I get what you’re going through,” your eyes flicker up to his, still not used to having anyone actually care for your well being. He goes on, “Just don’t let that pain take away everything you’ve worked for.” 

“Sure, Nick.” You nod solemnly. Even before the war, you didn’t have many friends. Nate is probably the only one that comes to mind. Entering the Memory Den, you glance at the large glass pods placed around and wonder if maybe you could see him again, if even just for a moment. He was the only person you felt had truly loved you– no strings attached. He made it so very easy to love him back. _Not now_ , you chastise again, _you’ve got a job to do. Don’t go losing your head_. You nod to yourself as you and Nick make your way downstairs. 

Dr. Amari stands at her computer, ceaselessly typing away some confidential patient records.

“Dr. Amari?” Nick calls. 

She turns to you absentmindedly. “Yes?” She begins, but upon seeing your two familiar faces she crosses her arms. She sighs, “I take it this isn’t a social call?” She almost looks agitated to see you. _Can’t blame her,_ you think, _everywhere I go, mess follows_. 

“We need your help, doctor,” you begin, trying to remain as kind and concise as possible. This lady was the only thing between you and finding Shaun, and you knew it. No way you’d let your temper get the better of you this time. “I need the memories from a man named Kellogg,” you pause, flickering your eyes between your friend and the doctor, “but he’s dead.” 

She just looks at you, flabbergasted. Maybe you should’ve let Nick give her that detail, but it was too late now. You flash an s.o.s. at your mechanical companion, and he picks up on your distress right away.

“I know it’s asking for a miracle, Amari, but you’ve pulled off the impossible before.” Man, Nick had a way with words. If he asked you to jump off a bridge, you probably would– though you had considered parachute-less base jumping without his imaginary instigation before. If anyone could get through to her, though, it would be Nick.

“Are you two mad!?” _Okay, maybe not_. “Putting aside the fact that you’re asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that the memory stimulators need intact, living brains to function?” Her stern voice rang through the office. 

“Please,” you plead, clasping your hands together. You lose track of whether this sad, grieving mother act is still a schtick or not, and you step forward, “Nick told me you’re the only one who could make this work.” 

Nick continued, “This dead brain has inside knowledge of the Institute, Amari. The biggest secret of the Commonwealth.” You could visibly see the good doctor perk up at this. “You need this, and so do we.” 

Doctor Amari nodded, eyes wide with thought. She shook her head as her shoulders drooped, pinching the crook of her nose with a surprisingly clean set of fingers. With a deep, _deep_ sigh, she said, “Fine. I’ll take a look, but no guarantees,” she pointed at you and Nick, raising her brow as if she were talking to children. You didn’t care. A weight had been lifted. “Do you,” she asked cautiously, eyeing you with a twinge of disgust, “ _have_ it with you?”   

Your hand shoots into your pocket and you clumsily pull out the small piece of brain and metal, removing it from the crusty brown towel. It looks almost like a shrimp, except for the long loose wires and rigid metal protruding from its sides. Amari plucks it from your hand and you take a step back, running a jittery hand through your hair, squeaking out nervously, “Here’s what I could find.” 

“What’s this?” She asks incredulously, “This isn’t a brain! This is… wait,” She turns the small biomechanical piece in her hand. Her eyes light up in astonishment, “That’s the hippocampus! And this thing attached to it. A neural interface?” She couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Those circuits look awfully familiar.” Nick cautiously eyed the metal. 

“I’m not surprised. From what I’ve seen, all the Institute technology has a similar architecture,” Amari responded. 

A glimmer captures your eyes. You flicker your gaze to your companion, “Nick’s an older model synth. Is he compatible?” 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! If we’re lucky, it should hook right in!” The doctor was practically jumping. You saw a dark flash run across her features and she calmed, crossing her arms in front of her. Her brow lowered in sympathy. “But even if this works, Mister Valentine would be taking on a tremendous amount of risk. We’re talking about wiring something to his brain.” Both of you focus on the prosthetic man, who takes a determined step forward.

“Don’t worry about me, Amari. Let’s do it.” 

Guilt rises up within you. You knew you had no right asking him to do this. _But there’s no other choice_ , you convince yourself. You nod and look to the floor, averting his gaze. “I appreciate this, Nick,” you practically whisper. He places his softer hand on your shoulder and your eyes shoot up to his. He smiles.

“You can thank me when we’ve found your son.” _God, he really is a hero_. You return his kindness with a wide grin, hoping your effort will give him some sort of luck. A laugh escapes his lips and he turns back to Amari, revealing all the multicolored wiring stretching from a rip in his temple to the collar of his trench coat. “All right. Let’s do this.” 

The doctor explains the procedure, placing Nick in a chair beside one of the same clear egg-shaped pods that you’d seen on the upper floor. She opened a small panel on the back of his rubbery head, inserting the chunk of brain as delicately as she could. With her gloved fingers still poking around in his wiring, she asked, a shred of worry in her voice, “Are you… feeling any different.” You were glad she had asked first. You still weren’t used to having affection for other human beings– or synths, as the case may be, but as you wrung your hands together, you knew that this was what it felt like. You hung on his answer, noticing a disconcerting jitter overtake his form. 

“There’s a lot of… flashes… static,” you could tell he was having a hard time getting the words out, almost painfully so, “I can’t make sense of any of it, doc.” 

You widened at your eyes at the doctor and she pursed her lips in a brief, understanding frown. “That’s what I was afraid of.” She went on to explain that the piece of Kellogg was encoded, that they had implemented one last failsafe into his godforsaken memories. You shook your head, a more important thought flooding you.

“Is Nick going to be okay?” You nearly shout. You shouldn’t have made him do this. He was the only friend you had and now…

“Yes,” Amari nods her head, raising her eyes to yours reaffirmingly, giving you a moment to take a deep breath, “the connections appear to be stable. Hopefully, it’ll be as simple as unplugging the implant once we’re done. But that doesn’t get around the current problem.” She lowers her voice as Nick wriggles around in his chair. “The memory encryption is too strong for a single mind, but,” she eyes you and you immediately understand, “what if we used two?” She begins to intellectually list off her reasoning, as if she has to convince you. You shake your head with a soft laugh, involuntary sarcasm rising within you.

“Nick and I are gonna share a mind? I’m not gonna see him in any compromising positions, am I?” The doctor flashed you a glare and Nick piped up, rubbing the base of his neck with his hand. 

“If a smart mouth was all it took to solve problems, we would have found your son by now.” You slugged him in the shoulder, an invisible smile playing on your lips. 

“Screw you, old man,” you bantered, knowing that your slightly breathy tone revealed your very real worry. 

“Uh… No,” Amari chimed, furrowing her brow in confusion, “you won’t have to worry about that. The only memories you’ll access are the ones in the implant.”

“All right,” you breathed, tracing your fingers along the shoulder of Nick’s coat protectively. He flashed you a look that told you everything would be fine and you nodded, “let’s get started.” 

“Just sit down over there,” she gestured to the pod beside Nick, “and keep your fingers crossed.”


	2. Chapter 2

You shoot up out of the memory lounger, scrambled after spending so much time in Kellogg's memories. You stand shakily, practically keeling over with emotion. You had seen him! You had seen Shaun! The Institute had him, which of course you had already guessed, but finally getting the absolute confirmation lifted your soul in a way that you hadn’t anticipated. It almost made helplessly reliving Nate’s death bearable– or at least you could convince yourself that it did. Doctor Amari reached out her hands to steady you as you tumbled, losing your footing.

“Slow movements, okay? I don’t know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had. No one’s ever… done this before.” She glances around your person, and you know all she wants to do is study your reaction. _Not now, doc. I’ve got work to do!_ “How do you feel?” She concludes. 

You smile wider than you thought possible, “I’m okay, doctor. Thank you,” despite your reputation as a kick-butt, take-names kind of gal, you can tell she knows you’re being genuine. She softens with a smile. 

“That’s good,” she nods, picking up a clipboard and jotting something down. Keeping her eyes glued to the page, she continues, “but I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there’s no long-term damage.” She clicks her pen, bringing her gaze back up to you. “Are you… ready to talk about what happened in there?” 

As quickly as possible, you relay all the information you acquired: that the institute uses teleportation, that they had Shaun, that the best way to track him and his captors down would be to find a scientist named Virgil. Amari interjected, “you’re right! A rogue Institute scientist could answer all kinds of questions.”

You nodded in agreement as she went on about something called the Glowing Sea. You barely heard her, still lost in your exhilaration.

“If we need to find Virgil, then I’m going after him,” you decide, leaving no room for argument. Amari sighs. 

“If you’re going to go, be prepared. You’ll need some way to combat the radiation there. It’s called the Glowing Sea for a reason.”

“I’ll find a way to get through the rads. Don’t worry.” Nothing, and you mean nothing will get between you and your son again. You had been so lost; hyped up on chems, drowning in the disillusionment of a world that was not your own... but upon seeing Shaun, you knew you had a chance. There might just be a place for you in this messed up world; for you _and_ for Shaun. You had tried to convince yourself that he didn't matter– to prepare yourself for the worst, telling yourself you didn't really care. How wrong you had been. Seeing him you knew– your life had a purpose, for the first time in a long while. You couldn't wait to tell Nick. 

“Good luck and be safe,” Amari finishes. “By the way, I unplugged Mister Valentine first. Removed the implant while you were waking up. He’s waiting for you upstairs.” 

“Thanks, doctor. I couldn’t have done this without your help.” You nod, your smile fading, the memory of Nate once again filling your mind. _Don’t worry, hun. I’ll get our boy back_. You rush back up the stairs, still eager to tell your companion the good news. Along the far wall, you see him lounging on a sofa. You tilt your head in acknowledgement. 

“Nick,” you call, nearing him with enthusiasm. You open your mouth to relay all you’ve found out when a familiar voice freezes you in your tracks. 

“Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head,” Kellogg spit a menacing laugh out of Nick’s lips, making you jolt, “I was right. Should’ve killed you when you were on ice.”

“Kellogg?” Your hand immediately hovers above the pistol strapped to your waist. “Is that you?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Nick responds, seemingly back to normal, if not a little agitated. Your brow furrows and your eyes widen. 

“You sounded like Kellogg just then.” You poke a finger at your gun, still wary.

“Did I? Huh,” the detective responds with a shake of his head. He stands, his gleaming yellow eyes flickering in thought, “Amari said there might be some mnemonic impressions left over. Anyway, I feel fine, so let’s get going.” He half smiles and you frown in response. No way you’re taking him out of here like this. You knew you had pushed him too hard. _Dam it_ , you curse at yourself. “Or,” Nick continues, almost kinder than before, “I could head back to Diamond City?” Your eyes catch his and you soften. _How the hell does he always know what I’m thinking?_ You nod.

“I think that would be best, Val.” You sigh, “Of course, I was gonna kick you off the team anyway. Getting tired of all your wisecracks.”

He chuckles, tipping his hat over his eyes. “Smart-ash.” He turns toward the door. “Let me walk you out of here.” You shake your head and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“No way. You’re marching right back down to Amari. I want you to have a clean bill of health before you leave here. God knows I don’t need you turning into Kellogg and wrecking the place.”

“I don’t suppose I get a say in this? I was looking forward to getting back to Ellie.” Raising your brow, you cross your arms and he sighs, “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.” You shoot him a glare and he smiles, turning to head back down to the doctor. “Guess there’s no harm in another check-up.” He makes it too the far wall before glancing back over his shoulder. “You sure about this? I don’t want you going off and doing anything reckless without supervision.”

“I’ll be fine, _dad_. You just take a break. Go easy for a while.” You turn the corner, about to leave and a thought hits you. Rushing back, you poke your head around the wall. “And Nick?” You call out, as you catch his glowing eyes, “thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he smiles. 

You fly back down the hall and push open the front door, red light spilling onto your face from the neon sign above. You had been used to being on your own before the war, but, of course, that was before literally everything and its mother wanted to kill you and serve you up for brunch. Truth be told, you had become dependent on the comfort of having someone watching your back. Even the relative safety of this town now had you on edge. All alone, you were volatile, and you hated it. 

Before Nick had found you floundering on the outskirts of Diamond City, you had just been a cracked-out junkie. After journeying through half of Massachusetts just to find him, his assistant informed you that you’d been too late. He had been taken by a nasty-sounding gang, and you in no way had the firepower nor the emotional strength to go running off on some reverse damsel-in-distress escapade. You had been through too much in such a short period of time. At first you hung around the Dugout-Inn, getting wasted off your ash, just trying to forget everything you’d left behind. Soon, though, the alcohol lost its desired effect, so you quickly turned to chems. There was a good-enough dealer in Diamond City, so for a while you made it a habit to go out and kill as many unimposing baddies you could find just to scavenge their possessions to sell at the marketplace in return for drug-money. This became your daily routine. Search for a few raiders, maybe some wild mongrels, kill them, take their stuff, maybe pick up some junk while you’re at it. Head back to the market, sell your crap, turn around and buy some hardcore chems. Then do _all_ the drugs. Really, you’d been fine for a while. _Lie_. After all, you knew your limits. _Lie_. This was just to get your mind off everything. _Lie_. However, when you were eventually tossed out of the city after being labelled a ‘public menace’ you acknowledged you had seriously taken it too far. You barely recognized yourself. Skinny and deathly pale, you simply prepared for death. No, you _longed_ for it. Anything to let you be back with Nate– and, in all likelihood, Shaun. You remember closing your eyes, curled up at the base of a statue of a baseball player. Figures you would die outside of the dilapidated ruins of Fenway Park. Just like you it had been destroyed, but tried desperately to raise itself up through the gravel and blood. Unlike you however, it had actually succeeded. 

Your eyelids sunk shut. Your body tingled in the warmth of the sun. You were so warm, _so warm_. Suddenly, a shadow drifted over you, causing you to weakly lift your eyes open. A tall man stood above you. He wore a faded yellow trench coat and a matching fedora. Even in your exhausted and run-down state, you immediately noticed that he screamed film-noir. You watched him as he knelt down, and didn’t even bother moving a muscle. What was the point? 

Then he said something surprising. “What’s your name?”

You blinked, hazily noticing a soft glow emanating from around his pupils. _Gotta be the chems_ , you thought. You opened your mouth to speak, but found your tongue too dry and swollen to get any words out. 

“Speechless, eh? I do have that effect on women.” He smiled, which caused your brow to furrow, not entirely understanding how one could be witty in this situation. “I’m Valentine. Nick Valentine.” He tipped his hat to you, as your eyes grew wide. Suddenly, a spurt of energy overwhelmed you and you leapt at him, pawing at his coat. Your dehydrated eyes rained airy tears down your dirt-caked cheeks. You had found him! Or… at least, he’d found _you_. 

A young-looking guard neared eagerly. “Detective Valentine! You’re back! How’d you escape Skinny and the gang?”

“Let’s say I got some help from a Mysterious Stranger.” His tone was jovial, but you sensed some competition hidden in his voice. 

You lazily glanced over at the grinning guard. It was clear that he wanted to keep asking questions, but upon noticing you, his look turned sour. “Mister Valentine, I wouldn’t go near _that one_. That filthy addict belongs over in Goodneighbor, not here.” 

“Now, Thompson!” Nick flashed his eyes behind him, “don’t you know anything about the fairer sex?” He turned his focus back to you and smiled. “First rule is you treat them like _human beings_. Besides,” suddenly he tucked one arm under your legs and the other around your back. He lifted you gingerly, and you hung loosely in his grip. From this angle you could swear you saw wiring trailing up his neck, and thin, metal fingers curling around your calf. _Gotta be the chems,_ you decide. Your rescuer continued, in a voice that made you light up, “I think I’ve just found my next client.”  

Over the next four months, Nick became your rock, more or less. You soon realized he was indeed a synth, of course, but your on-the-fence perception of the Institute creations changed just as soon as you found out the kind, courageous, heroic Valentine was one of them. Sometimes, you remembered all the whispered talk of the synth-rescuing Railroad, and wished that one day you could offer them your services. For the time being, however, Nick and his flame Ellie (which was one of the few things you deduced on your own) had you on lockdown, flooding your system with as much addictol as they could muster. After about a week, you had given your newfound companion your story and had also been rehabilitated (for the most part). A chem here or there ended up not causing too much trouble, but Nick was always disappointed by your brief relapses. 

In the end, taking out Kellogg with him by your side had been a breeze. Now it was your turn to return the favor. Ellie certainly wouldn't appreciate you sending him home with bits of that maniac floating around inside his circuits. Still, under the menacing neon, you felt vulnerable. Without even noticing, your feet started bee-lining for The Third Rail. You had passed it earlier and subconsciously recognized it as a bar. _Always the addict_ , you think. _Can't be left alone five seconds without needing a fix_. You sauntered through the door, coming face to face with a sweet-looking ghoul. Clad in a fine suit, he gives you a nod.

"Welcome to The Third Rail, Miss." He smiles.

"Thanks." You cross your arms and freeze. _This is a bad idea_. You gaze down the stairs, willing yourself not to move. _A really bad idea_.

"You all right there, Miss?" His soft voice pulls you out of your daze. You tense as a giggling ghoul couple speeds up the stairs. You hop over and lean against the wall beside the bouncer. You sigh deeply and look to the floor.

"Bad day?" 

"You don't know the half of it," you breathe. _What do I even say to a ghoul?_ You settle for the most basic of questions. "What's your name?"

"Ham," he responds. 

If you weren't in such an odd place right now, you probably would have found that funny. Instead, you set your eyes on him, words forming instantaneously. "Hi, Ham. I'm cheese." _God, that was stupid_ , you wince. The ghoul's onyx eyes light up. You feel your shoulders loosen slightly.

"Funnily enough, I haven't heard that one before," he chuckles through a wide grin before running a finger along the brim of his black hat. "Got something on your mind, Miss?"

"Nah, I'm good. It's just been a _weird_ day. I think I just need a... drink," you sigh, picking at your blackening nails.

"Well, you've come to the right place, then." He eyes you as your gaze falls flatly to the floor. "Here, tell you what," he chimes happily, picking up on your lackluster expression. "Head on down to Charlie and tell him Ham sent you. Your tab's on me tonight."

"Oh, no. It's okay," you shake your head, the traces of a smile on your lips. "I've got the caps."

"I insist. Least I can do for my good pal, _Cheese_." His grin is contagious.

"Alright. Thanks." You nod, but as you near the stairs, guilt rises up in you. You can't blame him, he was just being nice. He couldn't possibly know how little willpower you had when alcohol was involved. You nod a goodbye and notice Ham wink your way. You purse your lips as you slink downstairs. 

Immediately, a waft of smoke envelopes you and you drown in the dimly lit fluorescents, taking in the space. A beautiful woman is singing a sultry song in an equally sultry red dress. Patrons line the bar and scatter around the couches and chairs. Beer bottles litter the sticky carpet. _Just my kind of place_. You inhale deeply, wandering over to the Mr. Handy that manned the counter. You rest your elbows on the table and sink into the only available seat. 

"What'll it be?" The metal bartender calls gruffly, in a thick British accent. 

"Uh," you briefly consider ordering some straight vodka, but remember the bouncer's offer, "Ham sent me."

Charlie huffs, his spindly arms turning and opening a low cabinet behind the bar. "Here ya' go." He plopped a bottle down on the counter in front of you. You eye the drink for a moment, slightly startled at the choice. You feel your eyes brim with instant tears, but you blink them away. You choked out a laugh as you gripped the reddish neck of the Cherry Nuka Cola. 

"Thank you," you called to the bot, making a promise to give Ham your thanks as well. You snap open the lid, taking a long, hard earned swig of the sweet liquid. _I must've looked like a complete wreck if Ham knew that this was exactly what I needed_. You savored the drink, the fruity aftertaste of cherry spilling around your tastebuds. It seemed like forever since you'd drunk something that didn't have an alcohol content. Well, it _had_ been forever; not since before the war... You wipe your eyes of the quickly forming buds of memories. _Keep it under control. I am not going to break down in a bar_. You shake your head and stand, drifting to the music. Leaning on the side of a table, your eyes flicker around the room, trying to draw your focus to something other than the constant pain of existence. You settle on an aggressive looking drifter who rolls his eyes at you. You straighten, furrowing your brow.

"What do you want, a handout?" He spits at you, very obviously wasted. "What, you another merc come 'round looking for MacCready?" He jabs his thumb toward a closed off section in the back of the club as he slurs his words. Above the door, a large plank of wood reads VIP.  "You mercs are all the same. Coming in here all high and mighty. Like you don't just take whatever money is thrown at you, no matter who's lives you gotta ruin to get it." He spits again. You sneer. 

"I look like a merc, do I? Well, I guess that's better than looking like the backside of a Brahmin, like _some_ people. Guess I'll take it." You shrug, narrowing your eyes.

The man pushes himself up off the table, jostling a small collection of empty shot glasses. He snarls like a mongrel. 

Charlie calls loudly, "Hey! No fights in my bar! If you're gonna kill each other, take it outside!"

"No problem on my end, sir," you respond and the hovering sphere lets out a dismissive grunt. Your gaze travels down to the instigator and you pass him. "Not worth my time," you state, just loud enough for him to hear. The drifter growls as he sits back down, glaring at a drop of brown liquid in one of his dirty cups. You sigh. That was you, not four months ago. Aggressive, angry, fighting everything you could find. You take another sip of your cola before slipping into the VIP lounge, the bad memories of the recent past still fresh in your mind.


	3. Chapter 3

You hear a voice trailing down the hall even before you make it all the way into the room. 

"Should we take this outside?" It's a man's voice. He sounds pretty young. You poke your head around the corner. Three men congregate in the center of the room, and two of them immediately put a bad taste in your mouth.

"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready," one of the bigger men says roughly. 

The smaller one of the three drops down into a love seat. He is gripping tightly to a Nuka Cola and takes a long swig before responding. "I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock. It's been almost three months," he flicks his eyes up to the burly man, "don't tell me you're getting rusty." _Oh, I like this guy_. "Should we take this outside?" He repeats, more sternly than before, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"It ain't like that. I'm just here to deliver a message," the man named Winlock responds.

"In case you forgot, I left the Gunner's for good." MacCready rose and strode over to the man, curling his fists. 

"Yeah, I heard," Winlock crossed his arms, "But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us."

"I don't take orders from you!" The shorter merc lifted his hat above his eyes, a visible fire growing in his cheeks. "Not anymore. So why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can?" At this, a giggle involuntarily slips out of your lips. The three turn to you.

Winlock menacingly calls out at your interruption, "This doesn't concern you, lady. Beat it." He turns his head back to the small man. The third man finally speaks up in a hushed tone. 

"Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this crap." His companion nods and nudges a thick finger into the younger man's chest. 

"Listen up, MacCready. The only reason we haven't filled your body full of bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor." 

You clear your throat and the room once again focuses on you.

"You got a staring problem, beach? We told you to beat it!" The second man turns toward you, as you take a long gulp of cola. 

"You know, the two of you should be ashamed of yourselves, ganging up on a kid." 

"You kidding me?" Winlock looks at his companion, gesturing at you with a scarred hand. "Who is this chick?" 

"I'm the chick that's gonna kick your ashes if you don't hit the road right now." You lean up against the wall, sliding your hand over your pistol's hilt. 

The other man turns to his companion, quietly, "Come on, man. Let's get out of here. We can't just start shooting up The Third Rail. Hancock'll have our ashes."

Winlock looks to you as if deciding if plugging a bullet into your brain is worth it. Soon, he nods, smacking the other mans shoulder. "Alright, Barnes. Let's do as the nice lady says." He flashes you a sickening smile and you gulp down your repulsion. "Mac, we'll finish this up later." The two of them wander out of the room and your eyes trail them as they disappear upstairs. 

A loud, agitated sigh emanates from behind you and you turn. "Look lady, you didn't have to do that," MacCready spouts, dropping his empty Nuka bottle on a table. "I had those bozos under control." 

"I'm sure you did, kiddo." You finish off your own drink and position it on the table beside his. Sinking into the sofa, you flicker your eyes up to him. "But I needed to talk to you alone."

At this, he tips his hat and saddles himself on the couch beside you, his expression changing completely. He smirks, his stubbly goatee pulling to the side. You notice his eyes dance over you and roll yours. "Well, why didn't you say so? I've always got time for lovely ladies."

"Not like that, Grade-School." You jab a finger under his chin and quickly spin his head away. You cross your legs and explain, "I heard you're a mercenary. I need an extra gun."

"Ah," he leans back in his seat, bringing out a customized 10mm pistol. He fiddles with it, not losing his smirk, "Well, you're in luck! Look no further than the great MacCready! I can shoot the eye out of a mole rat from 500 yards!" 

"Impressive," you nod. He shoves his weapon back in the holster at his side.

"Haven't even told you the best part. All this for one low, flat rate. Let's say, 300 caps. And there's _no_ room for bargaining."

You scoff and shake your head. "There's _always_ room for bargaining. 200."

He sighs, narrowing his eyes at you, "250." 

You blink hard and lean close to him. "200."

MacCready sighs again and falls back in the couch, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Now, what about _you_? How do _I_ know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?"

"You don't, kid. That's part of the risk, right?" You stand up and adjust your gun holster. He laughs and rises off the sofa.

"Can't argue with that." Crossing his arms, he lays down one final attempt. "225 caps and we can get out of here right now."

You can't help but laugh at his persistence. "Okay. Sounds like a deal, Grade-School. 225. But only because you remind me of myself at your age." 

"Yeah, I really don't think you're that much older than me," he chided, once again running his eyes over you. Shuffling in your small hide purse, you quickly count out your caps. You hold them out to him.

"You'd be surprised. Ready to go?" He scoops up the small aluminum discs and drops them carefully into a pouch on his ammo bag. He grins with a glimmer in his eye.

"Ready, boss." 

The two of you leave the VIP lounge and you shoot a wink at Charlie. "Thanks for everything, barkeep." 

"Yeah, yeah. Next time spend some caps," he responds disdainfully while simultaneously dropping a beer in front of a scavver. "Maybe then I'll care to see ya' go." 

"Well, if anything is gonna keep me coming back, it's _that_ attitude." You roll your eyes, but then perk up as you remember your promise. "Oh! Actually," you bend over the counter and softly speak, "can I have a Nuka Cherry, please?" 

"10 caps," he demands. Nodding, you once again filter in your purse for the change. Smacking the metal bits down on the table, Charlie slides another rocket-shaped, mahogany drink to you. 

"Thank you ever so much for your patronage," the robot coos, just glad to have squeezed some money out of you. You wrap a hand around the neck of the bottle with a severely fake smile, as you turn to cross the room. 

"10 caps?" MacCready repeats snarkily, as soon as you're out of earshot. "That bast- uh, _jerk_ always sells 'em to me for 15." You smile, hopping up the stairs. Ham is standing against the wall and you holds out the bottle to him. 

He grins and tips his hat to you, taking the drink from your grasp. You nod, showing your thanks through unspoken appreciation. Without a word, you turn, flying out the door, your young companion nipping at your heels. 

"What was that about? That was a perfectly good waste of caps?!" 

"Don't you know anything about a thing called kindness, kid?" You flash your eyes over him, chuckling to yourself. "Besides, I owed him." 

"Whatever you say," he mutters, still clearly befuddled by your action. As you turn the corner, he pipes up again. "So, what exactly are we doing here, then? You need me to help take someone out? Steal something back?"

You shake your head, "Nothing that grisly." Your eyes shoot to him, the tone of your voice suddenly turning questioning. "No, I need someone to accompany me to somewhere called the Glowing Sea?" You purse your lips as he halts, mouth agape. "What?" You ask, you brow furrowing. 

"We're going to the godda- ugh, _dang_ Glowing Sea? Yeah, I don't think so. Do you even know what's out there?"

You shake your head again. "Well, no. But it can't be worse than what I've come across, already." Your mind quickly runs to getting some anti-rad meds. Remembering seeing a little trade post at the front of the town, and not particularly caring about your new companion's qualms, your feet instinctively start walking. "I mean, not to brag, but I did kill a Deathclaw my first day out. I think I can handle whatever else this place can throw at me."

"First day out? What do you mean? " He raises his brow in confusion. You sigh. You'd prefer not telling him your life story right now, but it was your own fault for letting that vital piece of information slip. 

"Yeah," you respond, "I, uh... I was in a vault." Maybe you could leave it at that. 

He scoffs, either with awe or disappointment, you really can't tell. "No way! _You_ were a vault dweller? _You_?"

"Hush up, half-pint," you chastise, rounding the corner of a large warehouse. "It's not like I'm that unusual, right? I'm sure there's loads of us running around."

" _Vault dwellers?_ " A haughty laugh flys out of his lips. "What, have you been living under a rock?" Your eyes harden and you stop right in front of an armory run by an assaultron. Turning to MacCready, you stiffen, clearly waiting for him to expand. "Uh... maybe you have," his tone turns sheepish. "Well, it's pretty common knowledge that all the vaults were... you know." You shake your head and he smirks, bringing a hand to the base of his neck, fiddling with the back of his hat. "Well, let's say that they weren't exactly trained in combat or intimidation. You obviously can handle yourself. You made it _here_." He laughs, "it's just hard to believe _you_ lived in a vault."

"I didn't." Once again, you turn, leaving his look of bewilderment in the dust. You quickly hop over to the shop, coming face to face with a friendly-looking ghoul. You put on a calm smile, eliciting a lipless grin in return. 

"Welcome to Daisy's Discounts. What can I get'cha? Chances are we got whatever you're looking for."

"I hope so, ma'am," you sigh, just as your companion pops into view. Your focus flickers to the shopkeeper as her eyes light up.

"Well, if it isn't little Bobby! I swear, it's been gettin' longer and longer since I last saw you. You been holed up at the Rexford this whole time?"

"Yeah, Daisy. How’ve you been?” MacCready pops up beside you, dropping his elbows to lean on the counter. He smiles so wide, it pulls up into his eyes. If Daisy’s skin wasn’t so worn, you could’ve sworn you saw her blush. 

“Better now that you’re here! Though, I gotta say, I’m sad that you’ve been here all this time and never said hello! I enjoy our little visits.”

“Me too, Dais, but I swear this is _strictly_ business.” He pulls back and clears his throat, directing a very clear head nudge toward you. 

“Well, anyone my Bobby trusts is fine in my book. So, you need some supplies?”

“Just basic anti-rads. Lots of them. Maybe some Med-X and Stimpacks too, if you’ve got ‘em.”

Daisy looks you over, a small smile pulling on her leathery lips. “Sounds like you two are in for some fun. You’ll excuse me if I ask you to count me out. I prefer to keep all my limbs in their proper places. Lucky for you, though, I just got a huge shipment of meds. Let me see what I have.” She turns and nears the back of the store. You momentarily turn to your companion. 

“So… you two know each other?” _God_. You hated small talk. MacCready just laughs. 

“Yep! Me and Daisy go way back. I met her on a job I was on right after I left the Capital Wasteland! She was one of the first friendly faces I met here in the Commonwealth. I’d trust her with my life.” He nods surely. Daisy swoops back to the counter, arms full of small plastic bags and tubes. She drops them down and looks back to you. 

“Here’s everything. Try not to buy me out, I’ve got lots of other customers who are hurting.” 

“No problem,” you say, separating about a quarter of all the available meds. “This should be enough to get us by. How much?” 

“For Bobby? 70 caps even.” She flashes the two of you a warm smile and you reciprocate. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Once again, you pull out your purse and separate 70 caps, cursing to yourself when you accidentally lose count. “You know, sometimes I wonder; I find plenty of pre-war money all over the Commonwealth. Why the hell did we switch over to _these_ clunky things?” 

“You know, I don’t know. It just sort of happened overnight. Just like the bombs, I suppose.” A sorrowful look overtakes her features. 

“I get that, I guess,” you nod, handing her the change, “Here you go.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, dear.” 

“You too.” You flash a quick smile before turning to leave. You start to head to the front entrance of Goodneighbor, but stop in your tracks when you see the good mayor sauntering your way. 

“Hey, Hancock. You’re not here to cause trouble are you?” MacCready snickers and takes the ghoul’s hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

“Ain’t I always?” The mayor chuckles roughly, relaxing his arms at his sides. He subtly turns his gaze toward you and smiles. “I actually got a job for you, if you’re up for it.” 

For a brief moment, you battle whether you should say no and just get on your way to finding Shaun, or say yes and get one seemingly pretty powerful ally on your side. Quickly deciding on the latter, you take a deep breath and respond, “Sure. What’s the job?” 

He smiles again, showing off pearly teeth that are heavily contrasted by the dark red of his face. “Just what I like to hear, sister. Place called the Pickman Gallery. You heard of it?” You shake your head ‘no’ and the mayor continues, “It’s raider territory up there, but they’ve been quiet. Like, uncomfortable post-coitus quiet? Snoop it out, and give me the word.”

“I might be interested, but let’s talk money, Hancock.” You notice MacCready perk up a bit at this. 

“Yeah, we don’t work for free,” he chimes in agreement. 

“Okay,” Hancock grins, tapping the brim of his three-corner hat. “Usual job pays 200, but I like you, so lets push it up to 250.” 

Strangely, you find yourself smiling back. You turn to your Merc with a raised brow as he nods in agreement. “Scout out Pickman Gallery.” You flick your eyes back to Hancock’s, barely noticing the goosebumps that are drifting up your skin. You grin again. “On it.”


End file.
